From OC to Mary Sue
by Kirasel
Summary: OC, Mary Sue - they're really not all that different, are they? But there's going to be a war either way.
1. In Which People Are Replaced

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Yes, this is a rewrite. No, it is not the same as the original. Otherwise, why would there be a rewrite?

* * *

**In Which People Are Replaced**

Quiet is a relatively simple word. The word is very nice, normally, and is sometimes all that we really need. It means the 'lack of sound.' So, quiet is a relatively simple word, with a relatively simple meaning.

It was certainly quiet in the room. It was a rather dark room, at that. All the blinds had been shut, not even allowing the smallest amount of light to slip in, and even then, there _wouldn't _have been any light to slip in. The sun doesn't shine during the night, after all (unless you're in one of those places that's sunny all summer, including at night, but who's counting that?). The only light came from the faint glow of the computer screen, which featured a fanfiction account and what seemed to be the beginnings of a fanfiction on a Microsoft Word document.

Finally, after letting the melodrama build up for a bit (oh, you know it certainly to be melodrama – what else could it be?), a voice spoke up. It was a deep voice, gravelly, with undertones of- well, I'm sure the reader (you) gets the point. Better to describe things without slipping into purple prose. It's really so much easier to read. Anyway, the voice spoke. "Founda 'nother one."

"Really?" another voice replied, sounding absentminded through the dark, as if lost in a dream. In fact, the owner of said voice probably was lost in a dream, somewhere far, far away. But that's another story for another time.

And then, yet another voice spoke, and instead of an awesomely dramatic drama-y voice, it almost seemed like it was whining. "Can't we turn on the lights?"

"Can't," spoke the absentminded voice. The sound of a page turning was loud enough for the entire room to hear. Now, it is most likely that it's impossible to read in the dark without a flashlight, like this person seemed to be doing, but remember: characters are Speshul. Whenever they defy logic, it must be reminded that the characters are so obviously Speshul that this is ignored. (Of course, you might have special night vision. In that case, ignore that last sentence.)

"WHY?" said the whiny-and-now-frustrated voice. The description above of a page turning must have been so long that you've probably forgotten the original response. Can't say I blame you, honestly.

"Tried already. Didn't work. Power's gone out."

"Then how is the computer still-"

Focus on the plot, man. Focus on the plot.

"Ah. Yes. Forgive me. So, ahem, what were we talking about again?"

There was a distinct grinding noise¸ recognizable of someone gritting and grinding their teeth. "You don't – ah, ferget about it." There was a clicking sound, and obviously, the clicking sound came from the sound the mouse makes when it clicks the word 'Submit.' "I'll tester without you people."

* * *

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

For those of you who vaguely recognize the sound, good for you. It can be the sound of many things, like a hammer or a herring, but in this case, is a fanwriter banging her head against a desk, a phenomenon commonly known as headdesking. Very painful, but it does wonders for the mind. Namely, leaving you utterly confused and dazed for at least a few minutes. Of course, this only works for a select few people. Most of the time, it just hurts. I should know, I've tried it a few times, and it hurts quite a bit. Though, really, if you're determined and/or insane enough, it doesn't _matter _whether it works or not. You'll _think _it works, and that's very often enough. Well, except for the fact that you'd be left with a pretty bad headache. Which, as I've pointed out, is a bad thing.

_Bang. _However, this writer happened to be one of the select few people who were completely fine after a headdesking. She stared wistfully at the desk one more time before turning away. It wouldn't do for her to give herself a concussion or permanent brain damage, which surely is quite possible.

The source of her frustration? A litmus test. Or, to be a little more clear, a Mary Sue litmus test.

Let's say you're a newbie. A rookie. An inexperienced hand. And so on, and so on. You're new to fanfiction, you're new to writing, and you might even be new to reading in the first place (I certainly hope not). But you like the idea of having an account on fanfiction dot net. So you get your account, you get your creative mindset, and you write. And then you look at other people's fanfics. Some are good (like you hope yours will turn out), and you envy these fics. Some are average (like you think yours will turn out). Then you see the atrociously bad (like you desperately refuse to contemplate your writing would turn out). You look at the reviews, and you shudder, happy that it isn't you that's being quite happily flamed.

Then you realize that it _could_ be you. After all, you're a new writer, aren't you? No writing experience at all, and by the time you actually get some, you could be flamed, multiple, multiple times. You hurriedly look up what makes up a bad fanfic. And, at the very top of the list, is the words "MARY SUE." You're curious, so you look it up. The definition is too horrible for words. And surely, you don't want a Mary Sue, right?

Now, this is only a little example of what could happen. Maybe you simply write by your own rules. Or you ignore good writing completely and just write what you want. But this 'what if' happened to the mentioned fanwriter. She found all litmus tests confusing. Now, if she wasn't a newbie (a new writer, a rookie, whatever), she would have known that most litmus tests were contradictory in some way or form, claiming some very well-liked canon characters to be Mary Sues. Unfortunately, she didn't know that, and so, fortunately, set forward the plot.

She had been extremely careful to make her OC not a Mary Sue. But somehow, she had failed all of those litmus tests. She ran through every single one of her original characters. One of them was "too unexciting." After she fixed that, it became "has no emotional scars." The character happened to be confined to the asylum, suffering from various mental illnesses, and had a habit of laughing maniacally every two seconds. How was that 'no emotional scarring?'

She didn't know. She wasn't even sure if she still cared. _Bang. _She knew she really shouldn't be banging her head on the desk (it wasn't that healthy) but it was ever so relaxing.

As she brought her head up for another headdesk, she noticed her bedroom door was wide open. She frowned, thinking she could've sworn that she shut it. She shrugged, and decided she must have forgotten, as she often forgot things.

"Excuse me!" sang a voice like chimes.

The fanwriter gave a start. When all remained quiet, she settled down again, stealing a furtive glance to the side, and finally, she shook her head. "Maybe I really did damage my brain…" she pondered aloud.

"No you didn't!" sang out the voice like chimes, tinged slightly with annoyance.

"AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-mmrph," said the author, cut off by a hand across her mouth. She turned her head.

A figure in a dark (flowy, midnight black, shimmering, dramatic) cloak had appeared. In an amused (pretty, gorgeous, fantastic) voice, the figure asked, "Are you done?"

The writer had finally forced the hand away (it had actually taken quite a bit of effort – although the hand was soft (as soft as very silky silk) and daintily shaped (like a dainty, delicate lily), it seemed to also be made of iron (hard, dense…more hard)). And no, she wasn't in awe of the lightning-fast reflexes of the figure, or in surprise of having a hand slapped on her face. Instead, her first reaction was, "How the hell did you get into my room?" Which is, indeed, perfectly normal – and if not normal, understandable (and if not understandable, plausible) - reaction.

"I have my ways."

The window was wide open.

The writer realized this, and she narrowed her eyes. "You _climbed_ through my-"

"Enough of that!" said the figure cheerfully. The hood fell back, revealing a beautifully pale face, with skin like ivory and cream, with a hint of rose petals. The eyes were as blue as the sky and possibly even bluer, for what sky is bright sapphire? Dark, midnight black, raven, silky locks of hair framed the dainty white ivory face (my, my, doesn't _somebody _overdose on purple prose), and with her beautiful plush rose-colored lips, she spoke. "I-" the figure paused for a dramatic pause – "I can help you."

The writer slowly eased her chair away. "Yeah…" she eyed the figure thoughtfully, as if wondering if she could possibly escape and/or call the police. Unfortunately, her backpack (that would have made a _great_ battering ram) was downstairs, along with her cellphone. No help there. The figure laughed, with her chime-like voice. Calmly, the writer got up out of her chair, and backed up in the direction of the door.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," pouted the figure with her beautiful rose-colored lips, striding forward.

"You're a Sue," the writer said flatly, looking over her shoulder for something pointy and stabby.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be found. All the toy swords (made of plastic, wouldn't work quite that well) and toy guns (now, really, you could injure someone with those, you know, with a nice big swing) were located either in her brother's room, or scattered on the floor downstairs. Wait, but her _scissors…_were in the drawer behind the Sue. Crap. "Correct!" The figure placed a delicate white hand on the writer's shoulder, smiling sweetly. Immediately, the writer's eyes glazed over. "Now, let's get to work re-writing those stories of yours, shall we?" The writer mechanically nodded.

* * *

Once upon a time, there were four people. Two girls. Two boys. They grew up together, and together, they made a magical castle. For a time, all was well. And then – well, and _then…_

…They had a hissy fit and broke up with each other.

But let's focus on that magical castle. Which also happened to be a magical school. Which also happened to be named Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. Ring a bell here?

Yes? No? I'll assume you said yes. Because if there was no bell to be rung, you wouldn't be here, anyway. You can not know about this series unless you know the name Hogwarts.

Anyway, in this magical castle/school, a boy was rather groggily walking through the hallways, past magical talking portraits, past the staircases – whoops, almost stepped in that trick step there – down, down down down, until he arrived at his destination. Once there, he gave another of the very many yawns he had been giving throughout the morning, rubbing his eyes. "Good morning," he greeted, to the first person he saw in the Great Hall.

It happened to be a rather skinny girl, pale and freckled, seated right in front of the silver platter of sausages. "Oh, good morn-" she froze as she looked up. Then, asking politely, "Were you talking to me, by any chance?"

The boy blinked. "Ummm… yes?" He wasn't quite fully awake yet, due to the fact that staying up until near midnight did not help you at all when attempting to get up at a reasonable time in the morning, but he was relatively sure that he was indeed talking to the girl. That, or the shiny, shiny blue glowing sausages behind her. Wait a sec…

"YES!" squealed the girl, as she grabbed her bag and speeded away, Squeeing (because it was obviously squee-worthy) all the while.

Another blink. The boy turned his head and spoke to the person that had just sat down next to him. "Hello. You saw that, right? Did I say something, er, offensive?"

The girl looked at him blankly. "Harry," she said slowly, as if speaking to a very young child. "You're famous. What exactly did you expect?"

Harry Potter, for that was who he was, shrugged, and started liberally applying some jam to his toast. "I thought the Potter fan club already ended."

"Apparently not." Hermione (for that was who the girl happened to be) shook her head. "It's a little sad…"

* * *

Kyla Tansmit was a happy, happy girl. She happily skipped into the happy Gryffindor Common Room, where she happily sat down on her favorite happy armchair.

Well, now that we've established how happy, happily happy she is, I believe it really is time to get to why she is happy. I'm sure at least some of you (yes, I do mean you) are somewhat curious.

The Golden Trio were famous (or infamous, your mileage might vary) throughout Hogwarts. Many had heard the tale of the Philosopher's (or Sorcerer's – pesky cross-country things, couldn't they stick to one title?) Stone: one of them bravely sacrificing themselves to a knock on the head by a giant pawn (or queen – or was it a bishop, a rook, possibly something else - nobody was really that sure), another one figuring out a riddle (that sounded a lot less badass now that she actually thought about it, but still), and the last, and most famous, facing down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (personally, Kyla thought that happened to be naming him anyway, but whatever). Then there was the Chamber of Secrets, and a giant basilisk. After that came a close encounter with mass murderer Sirius Black. Needless to say, even some of the upper-years were somewhat impressed with these three now-fourth years.

Meaning the first and second years were utterly, utterly adoring and devoted.

Sure, some of them hadn't really had the time to hear anything about the tales of the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends, but the third years quickly fixed that problem. And of course, there were all the rumors floating around that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger did even more than that. They ranged from a hippogriff tattoo to the slaying of twelve dragons. And of course, there was the rumor that Weasley liked Granger, Granger liked Potter, and Potter liked Weasley. Personally, Kyla didn't care for a pairing like that, but the third year girls rather liked the idea. She wasn't quite sure _why _now that she thought about it, and when she asked, they giggled and said something about 'slash' and 'how romantic'. Their explanation confused her quite a bit, even more than the thing that needed explaining. But she was sure there must be a reason somewhere.

Anyway, the reason why she was so happily happy was the fact that she actually spoke to two of the Golden Trio. One of the two was actually going to help her on homework! And the other said 'Good morning!' In Kyla's mind this was a happy, happy thing. Granted, she hadn't seen Weasley yet, but still! It was the thought that counted. Now exactly what the thought counted for, she wasn't exactly sure, but it had to be important.

Some other highlights of the start of her very nice Saturday was the fact that she actually got to the Great Hall, without getting lost even once. This was a very wonderful thing. Yes, Kyla was a second year, and therefore, should be able to know where to go, but for some strange reason, everything changed. Portraits weren't where they were supposed to be, stairs changed when they weren't supposed to, and, once, instead of leading into the Astronomy Tower, it had lead her into… somewhere…with snow. This perplexed her since, really, she was still inside the castle. Kyla had to wait for search parties, or else, as the Prefect solemnly put it, "you would be found four months later, two years older, and babbling in some strange unknown language." There was even more things (she still woke up with nightmares about them), and more dangers, but she had mostly forgotten what they were.

Of course, the other highlights included a very nice breakfast and the fact that, with a bit of fuss, she had finished all of her homework on Friday, which she was never quite able to do. Meaning she was free to enjoy her weekend.

There were some other things too, like the chance to fly a broom, but those other things were rather pathetic achievements, that, although it made Kyla happy, she did realize that they were a little pathetic and sad.

Anyway, her nice, rather normal looking barn owl (she named him Aves) had brought her a note yesterday. Kyla had been a little too busy with homework to notice, but now, she brought out the slightly crumpled, slightly yellowing scroll, and carefully untied the faded black ribbon.

_My dear Kyla,_

_It's really been a while since I've last seen you, hasn't it? You know what? I'll meet you tomorrow. At the Owlery. Somewhere around noon? I hope that's okay with you._

_Please see that you sneak some food, because I hear that 'somewhere around noon' is also lunchtime. We'd both be starving, and I really wouldn't be able to write us some lunch. Writing at Hogwarts doesn't materialize like it should. Quite annoying._

There were some blotches of ink splattered after these words, and a dried brown substance that looked suspiciously like blood. Kyla gulped, and tried to continue reading. Finally, after looking past the blotches and splatters, which covered a very large section of the paper, there was legible text again.

_Erm, what was I going to say? I can't seem to remember…_

Another big splash of ink and/or blood.

_Ah, yes. I've got a little surprise for you. I'd write it here, but it'd lose a lot of its 'surprise' factor. You'll get it when you go to the Owlery._

_Love,_

_Master (or alternatively, Avriel Larkspur, or even more alternatively, Master Larkspur. I think I like the sound of that last one)_

Kyla chuckled weakly. There just had to be something wrong. Had to be. Master's personality was obvious through the letter. But she never spilled quite that much ink. That rust-brown substance… (was hopefully ink… hopefully…)...

There went her perfect day. Of course, it really was a little early for her to be pointing out what was perfect and what wasn't.

She sighed, and began unpacking her bag. Probably going to need it later.

* * *

And so, this was how Kyla came to be sitting on the steps of the Owlery, waiting with a sack full of food. Waiting anxiously, nervously – she half-expected Master to be dripping blood when she arrived.

"Hello, Kyla."

"D – oh, hi." Kyla bit back the scream that was going to come out, and arranged her expression in a polite smile. She, ever so carefully, began taking out some food out of the sack: a few flagons of pumpkin juice, butterbeers, a picnic ham, a salad, potatoes, some cream puffs. She had to give up a few Galleons to the Weasley twins to find out where the kitchens actually were (it was rather difficult to do that. Every second year had a near-instinctive lesson drummed into their heads: stay away from the Weasley twins. Percy Weasley had, rather pompously, drilled that in last year. "Or you will end up sprouting feathers, being hung out of a window, and the like," he had explained), but it wasn't very advisable _not _to do what your author told you to do.

Master (or apparently Master Larkspur) sat down quite calmly on the floor. "Well?" she said, giving a little gesture. "I'm not going to have you go to the trouble of getting all of this just for you not to eat!"

Kyla hesitated, and gingerly sat down, loading a plate with a few slices of ham and the potatoes. She avoided the salad. Both she and the Master didn't really like salad, or vegetables at all, really. In fact, the only reason why she brought salad is because it was something green, and everyone had some form of vegetable at a meal. Master, instead of eating, was looking rather critically at the stone floor. "That won't do," she muttered, and snapped her fingers. The floor instantly turned pink and rather fluffy. While it was comfortable, it was odd, to say the least. Kyla inched slowly toward the reassuringly gray and hard wall.

"Anyway," Master beamed, clasping her hands together. "It's absolutely _wonderful _to see you, dear Kyla!"

All right. There was definitely something _off _about this. "Er, it's nice to see you too?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Master waved her arms dismissively. Then she leaned closer, spilling an open flagon of pumpkin juice. Kyla couldn't help watching the orange liquid spill over, seeping into the pink fluffy floor. "Now about that surprise…" She gestured, again, behind her.

Kyla laughed nervously. Behind Master was, to put it quite simply, Kyla. But not just _any _Kyla. This Kyla had absurdly sparkly shiny chestnut hair, unlike Kyla's normal dark brown. This Kyla had eyes bluer as the sky (like sapphires), when Kyla had gray ones (and no, not steel gray, or silver, it was actually a rather soft, dull gray). This Kyla was extremely pretty. This Kyla wasn't freckled or out of shape or anything like Kyla. She was un-Kyla-ish as any Kyla could be. The normal Kyla-like Kyla felt sick. She'd heard of this before, but she didn't think Master would actually write one.

Mary Sue.

"Umm, thank you," Kyla gulped. "What exactly is..._it_." She wasn't sure what to call a replica of herself. The natural way would be 'her' but that made Kyla rather uncomfortable, for reasons unknown to even herself.

Master smiled broadly. Kyla, only then, noticed the milky white eyes the Master possessed. It was like cream had been painted over her eyes. Thick, white, gooey, somewhat luminous, cream. "This, - (dramatic pause) – is your replacement, dear Kyla." And then she waited, as if she expected Kyla to be happy about this. Kyla was … not happy.

Kyla eyed the Mary Sue warily. "Umm…" She wasn't really sure what to say.

She was spared of having to make any conversation by Master continuing with her explanation. "You'll have a break for once," Master said, with a sweet smile. "Didn't you always say you didn't like doing the homework assignments? Now you'll never have to work again."

Another gulp. "Master," Kyla said slowly. "Do you realize what would happen if I don't do any work?" An original character without any work, without anything written, would, quite simply, disappear. Oh, if it wasn't a replacement, she would have existed, but she would be stopped in time, until the writer began to write about her again. But if there were no writings remaining…

"What's wrong?" Master tilted her head quizzically. "Work is bad, right? Wouldn't you rather be perfect and beautiful, with no work at all?"

At this, Kyla started to giggle. Giggling soon erupted into full-blown laughter. She was laughing, her ribs hurting, just laughing at her silly, silly Master. Although she very much wanted too, she couldn't stop. _Did Master know what would happen if she stopped working? _Probably not, because Master started laughing too. When Kyla finally stopped laughing, she asked, with narrowed eyes, "Have I made you unhappy, Master?" What had happened, to make her replace Kyla?

Master kept laughing through it all, tears gushing through her milky eyes. "Oh, Kyla, Kyla, Kyla! You're just _so _funny."

"I don't see what's so funny." Kyla felt empty. Completely and utterly empty. Was that what she sounded like too?

Apparently she did sound like that, because Master's grin froze. "Kyla," Master said, still pleasantly smiling, "don't." Then she frowned and peered intently at the potatoes. "Oh Kyla! You didn't bring any butter? I'm ashamed."

"Um-"

"No, no, it's okay. Did you bring any salt?" Now rather confused, Kyla fumbled with the opening of the sack and pulled out the salt shaker.

"Thank you!" Master exclaimed, grabbing it and adding some salt to the platter of potatoes, as if she had not just been talking about Kyla being deleted.

"Uh. You're… welcome?" Kyla was thoroughly, thoroughly baffled. She began backing away slowly, toward the direction of the door. Maybe she should try and get Madame Pomfrey…

"Oh, and Kyla? Before you leave, have a cream puff." Master cheerily tossed the aforementioned pastry at Kyla's face. It landed with a splat, right between Kyla's eyes. For a split second, Kyla stared, cross-eyed, at the whipped cream and dark chocolate dripping down from her forehead. Abandoning all subtlety, Kyla ran for the door.

A wand pointed directly at her throat. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the sparkly version of Kyla intoned dully. "Master wouldn't be happy if you left before you got the complete message."

"Complete message?" Kyla chanced a glance at Master. Master was currently examining a slice of ham, the platter brought close to her face. She snapped her fingers, and the ham separated into little, tiny, perfectly square, pieces.

Master stuffed one of the pieces inside her mouth. After she had swallowed, she nodded. "Yes, complete message. You will need to leave."

"Leave?"

Master frowned. "Oh, don't be such a parrot," she snapped. "Yes, I mean leave. Or I will personally see to it that you die. Got it?"

Kyla shut down her impulse to repeat 'Die?' (like a parrot) and instead asked a different question. "What about my sister?" Yes, Master had written her a sister. While she really didn't have all those nice sibling memories downloaded in her mind yet, apparently she had still gotten the big sister instinct. It was kind of annoying, because now, it made her like a personal bodyguard that couldn't be anything but loyal to someone she barely knew. And even now, that instinct was making her feel bad about thinking badly about her sister. Really, really annoying.

"Ah! You mean Natalie? Well, I have a," she hummed, "different use planned for her.

"Hey!" Kyla said indignantly. "What do you mean, _use_?" Master sounded like she was about to put Natalie up for a murder fic. Or torture. Or some horribly explicit thing she couldn't quite imagine yet.

Master squinted at her, with those clouded over eyes. "Perhaps I made that sister-sister bond a little too strong," she mused, putting a finger to her lips. Then she glared. "And perhaps," she hissed, "you could clean the _dessert_ dripping from your forehead."

Kyla blinked before she remembered the cream puff. The sparkly Kyla offered the regular Kyla a napkin.

"Leave," Master sneered at her, before very carefully probing a piece of lettuce.

And so, Kyla did.

* * *

Kyla raced down the stairs. She could leave pretty easily. It wouldn't be hard at all, all she'd have to do was find a fanfiction to escape into. It didn't even need to be to be real world fanfiction, it could just be a diary or something. A thought crossed her mind. What about her sister?

What _about _her sister? Kyla barely knew the girl's name, let alone be _friends _(yeah, right) with her. What was wrong with just leaving the girl to disintegrate into a mass of words?

Well, for one thing, there was sisterly protectiveness. Another was her conscience. And the last was that blasted Gryffindor honor. Kyla thought, as best she could, _"screw you, honor."_ It didn't work. The sisterly protectiveness was raising a lump in her throat, her conscience was making her eyes water, and her honor was screaming loudly in her head, _"save the victim!"_

Damn it. Being a Gryffindor had overridden her survival instinct.

Bye, survival instinct. We'll miss you.

Grumbling, Kyla looked at the virtual map in her mind of the possible locations her sister might be. Master had literally installed a map in her head. It was a version of the Marauder's Map, with a major defect. It could _only _locate her sister. It couldn't show her where the Divination or Astronomy Towers were, or lead her to the Kitchens. Oh, no, it could only locate her annoying little sister. Something about 'sisterly protection' and 'protecting your sister from bullying." Or even worse, 'maybe your sister needs help with homework!'

Blah blah, blah blah blah blah.

Currently, her sister's little black ink figure was residing at the Library. And so, still grumbling, and proceeding at a much slower pace, Kyla went to the Library.

It was actually easier to find her sister than she thought. For one, the library was relatively empty. The only people she could see was Granger and a dark-haired girl that looked vaguely similar to Kyla. Probably lil' sis. Kyla squinted a little, to see the badge on her so-called-sister's Hogwarts robes. She couldn't see much, but she caught a bright flash of yellow. Yellow? Her sister was a Hufflepuffle? Hmm, to be honest, she hadn't really been expecting Hufflepuff, really. Gryffindor, maybe. Slytherin was a possibility, if they wanted some sibling rivalry. Even Ravenclaw was an option. But Hufflepuff? That was new. Practically _nobody _made their OC a Hufflepuff.

After a few minutes, Granger left, and Hufflepuffle (she supposed it was sort of mean to say Hufflepuffle, but being a Gryffindor didn't necessarily mean she had to be nice) was left all alone, writing furiously with an electric-blue feathered quill.

Kyla walked slowly and quietly up to the girl, and tapped her shoulder. "Hello." She was a little curious to see how Hufflepuffle would react.

Hufflepuffle gave a start, upsetting the ink. "D – oh, hi," she politely ground out behind gritted teeth, staring at the spilled ink that soaked her essay. Kyla blinked. That reaction was ever so similar to her own reaction. She started smiling when Hufflepuffle started cursing under her breath. "_Damn you, you little - argh – what the – It's gonna take me hours to finish again, you little – ARGHHHH!" _Huh. Again, ever so similar. The only difference was that Kyla learned to stop swearing because everyone looked at her like she was crazy. This little Hufflepuffle didn't.

"You know I can hear every word you're saying?" Kyla inquired – politely, of course. Doing things _politely _was really fun when they blew up at you. Then they had no real reason to be angry, because you were _polite, _and then they started stuttering and stammering and turning red. A few years ago, she always wondered why the Malfoys found it so amusing. She tried it out. First time, she was mortified, and _she _ended up apologizing. Second time, she didn't really enjoy it. It started getting funny the third time she did it.

Turning red actually used to be her reaction, until she learned to control it. Hufflepuffle _hadn't_ learned how to control it, as evidenced by her turning a bright, faintly glowing crimson color. "I – um, well – er- I just – I'm sorry!" she blurted out. Then, curiously, "Is that a …cream puff?"

Kyla froze. She had forgotten about that. Taking the napkin that she was still somehow holding, she wiped it across (and hopefully off) her face. "Yeah, yeah," Kyla waved off the apology and the inquiry. "Doesn't really matter right now. Just here to say that if you don't get out of here, you'll be deleted."

"Delete…d?" Confusion. "Wait…" Realization. "You're an OC too!" Eureka!

"Don't go shouting it out for the world to hear," Kyla advised. "It's not good for a H -Um." She had just realized how awkward it would be if she said Hufflepuffle out loud. She'd probably get called out for discrimination and prejudice. "Who're you again?"

"My name? Oh, I'm Natalie. Natalie Tansmit. Who are you?"

Kyla was rapidly getting impatient, and a little bit worried. Master said something about dying if they didn't leave soon. Now, knowing Master, there was almost certainly a time limit. That time limit was bound to be very, _very _short. "No time," she said brusquely. "C'mon we gotta-"

_Boom._

"…Go…" Kyla trailed off as she glanced at the shattered remains of a bookcase. Taking a closer look, she saw the burned cover of Quidditch through the Ages, and winced at the broomsticks on the cover, which were now little piles of dust, still moving with very confused looking Quidditch players on them.

_Boom._

Another bookcase. Kyla bit her lip, and said hurriedly, "Okay, we really gotta go." She grabbed Natalie's wrist, and started tugging her away.

"Hey! I don't even know you! Let go!" Natalie yelled, brandishing the very pointy end of her quill. Kyla flinched as ink splattered on her face, and for a moment, her grip loosened.

Then it tightened, and she retaliated, smashing the ink pot on Natalie's head. (In hindsight, that was a little harsh…) "Do you _not see _the exploding bookcases?" Kyla shrieked. "If _you _do not want to _explode, _you have to _run!"_ Later, (much, much, later) she would wonder why the sisterly protectiveness did not prevent her from injuring her sister, but concluded that it was because it was in the name of protectiveness.

"My, my, my," drawled a voice suspiciously similar to her own. "What a racket you two are making. Madam Pince would have you out in a heartbeat."

Slowly, Kyla turned around.

And there she was.

Sparkly Kyla grinned, showing off shiny, even, pearly ivory teeth. "Fortunately, Madam Pince isn't here right now. I doubt she would appreciate the _mess _you're making." Her sapphire orbs lingered in barely disguised disgust at the sight of the ink that splashed the OC's robes.

"Why are you here?" Kyla spat out. "We're leaving. Pretty soon, actually. No need to kill us."

Sparkly Kyla had a truly remorseful look on her skillfully sculpted face, eyes shining with shimmering glint of unshed tears. "I'm sorry. I really am." She said it in such a way that it seemed half-way sincere. The other half was slightly manipulative and made it absolutely sure that Sparkly wasn't sincere in the least. "But Master had a time limit…"

"How long?" Kyla protested.

At this, Sparkly Kyla smiled delicately with her rose-petal lips. "Five minutes."

To Kyla's surprise, Natalie burst out with a, "That's not fair!" For a second, Kyla was actually going to take Natalie seriously. The tone of voice had a perfect note of rage, the ink-splattered face added drama, and the pose her body was in was perfect. Then Kyla remembered that it was, in fact, just ink, not blood or anything, Natalie was pre-adolescent meaning she was short and high-pitched, and that, well, she was holding a bright blue quill. Bright blue is a color that most people do not take seriously. Including Kyla.

Sparkly shrugged. "Life isn't fair." And with that, another bookcase exploded. Right in front of Natalie's face.

Now wood shards were embedded in the soft tissue of Natalie's cheeks and forehead, barely missing her eyes and mouth, blood starting to ooze from the little cuts in which paper had whipped quickly past. All traces of Natalie's Gryffindor will (and stuff like that) evaporated. Her skin paled. Kyla could hear the girl start to whimper. Kyla felt kinda sorry. Kinda. Then again, that was probably just her conscience. Trembling, after a few moments, Natalie ran out of sight. Leaving Kyla all alone. _Gee, thanks, lil' sis._

"That was mean." As soon as Kyla said that, she could have slapped herself. Pointing out the obvious. Stupid, stupid, _stupid _Kyla…

Another shrug. "Hey," Sparkly gave a little wave of her wand. "I take no offense." And shrugging, she lifted that absurdly shiny golden-tinged wand. "Sorry 'bout this. _Avada Kedavra."_

Kyla's eyes widened as the green bolt of light shot forward. It was pretty in a sort of deadly way and – hey, what was she thinking? Kyla, you idiot! Duck, you stupid girl! And so, Kyla dove to the ground, and, in doing so, bruised her knee, hit the table, and spilled the rest of the ink on her.

"I think," Sparkly interjected gracefully, "you'll agree with me that that was not a very elegant landing, no?" She lifted her wand again.

"Damn you," Kyla snarled. She wiped out her own wand (ten inches, hickory and dragon heartstring). With a twirl, she cast the first spell she thought of. "_Petrificus Totalus!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Kyla watched, eyes wide, as the two beams of light connected. And then she got bored. She really should be surprised. She should be. But she wasn't. Not really. On the other side, Sparkly seemed just as bored. With good reason to, as –

With a faint little pop, Kyla suddenly disappeared. Natalie, watching with wide eyes behind a collapsed bookcase, did the same.

"Hmm?" The Sue (Sparkly) waited for a while, just in case she disappeared too. Nothing. The Sue let out a beautiful little sigh, sounding somewhat like bells and fairy wings. Master was not going to be… _happy. _Her eyes had shifted in hue from a bright blue, to a rather cloudy one. She elegantly twisted the emerald of the ring of gold around her finger. And, dreading the worst, she said, "Master, they have escaped."

"Oh, really?" came Master's airy voice from the ring. "Interesting! Now, if you excuse me, I have a little homework to do. Math really is my worst subject, and there's a quiz tomorrow. Good-bye!"

The Sue blinked, and, if she were not a Sue, would be acting a lot more surprised than she was actually feeling. "Excuse me?" she spoke into the ring, portraying no hint of the confusion she actually felt.

"WHAT?" Master yelled loudly. Sparkly Kyla was almost certain that if Madam Pince was here at this moment, that they would have been kicked out because of the high-pitched, shrill scream that Master used. "_Can't you see I'm busy?"_

Sparkly Kyla was unsure of how to answer that. She decided to take the question literally. "No, not really, now that you mention it."

It seemed that she chose the correct answer, as Master's voice instantly went soft and dreamy. "Oh, yeah, that's right…" Master said in an oddly curious tone. "You can't _see." _There was a giggle. Then, rather irritably, "_I was supposed to tell you something, wasn't I?"_

"Er…" Again, unsure how to answer. Well, honesty was the best policy (or it was supposed to be, anyway). "Yes, actually."

"Peh!" There was a spitting sound over the ring. Then, Master resumed talking, in a deeper and graver voice. "Ah, yes. Do not worry about those OCs. They're not important. You are. Take that necklace I gave you. Go back in time, far enough to become the fifth Hogwarts champion." Master's voice suddenly took on a malicious edge. "Remember. You are Kaliana Zenith Eventide Veranharthe. Understood?"

_Er…No. _But the newly named Kaliana nodded and said yes all the same.


	2. In Which People Hear of A Trash Bin

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Please read this note. It's the whole reason I decided to post the chapter in the first place, since I can't really get your attention in any other way.**

Something that you really should know - Yes, I deleted the original. I really hated it. Sort of like an old shame. I'd like to think that I write better than that now, but, well. Another thing - chances are, that you won't see this story updating very often. At least, not until I've actually completed the story. So, at the best, two years later. At the likely, four years. At the even more likely, never. Because now, I don't really like the story, I don't like how it's written, and I can't even write a British accent. I mean, I could completely ignore the British accent, I guess, like I did in this chapter. But that's a little jarring when it comes to canon characters. So, people who actually liked the original...

Sorry.

* * *

**In Which People Hear of A Trash Bin**

The first thought her mind offered her was a simple, _Where am I? _A thought that was short, sweet, and to the point.

_"Hey… Wake up."_

She couldn't really feel anything, not really, anyway. Logic said she was probably lying around on the ground. Weirdly enough, it sort of felt like she was floating, which was a rather nice sensation. Comfortable too, the air not too warm, not too hot. She felt pretty nice. She couldn't remember being worried about anything, so she supposed she wasn't worrying about anything at all at the moment. Well, maybe. To be honest, she wasn't all that sure. Oh well. Even if there was a problem, it didn't matter right now.

"_Please…Wake up! Please! I'm begging you!"_

She didn't care. She didn't want to care. It was so peaceful here. She wasn't going to disturb the place with her worries. But she didn't have worries, so that was all right. She was feeling tired, anyway. Yes. Tired. That's all. Everything seemed… so much softer around the edges. Quieter. It was getting hard to think, too, but she wasn't worried about that. So much easier just to let go of her thoughts and simply not think. So much easier just to… sleep.

_"Please!"_

She was jolted swiftly awake, a sharp pain jutting through her head. Mentally grumbling, she cracked an eyelid open. There was a very small girl looming over her, a panicked expression on her face. The girl looked like she was about to go into hysterics any time soon. Hysterics, with the crying, the sobbing, the screaming, the nonsensical ranting. Maybe throwing around some hexes, throwing around punches and kicks. Interesting, at the very least. Hilarious at the very most. But she knew if she laughed, she might not be able to sit up. And she _really _needed to sit up. But then, there was the question that if she stayed down, would her head stop hurting? Maybe. And she closed her eyes again. She was curious, but –

_"PLEASE! Wake up! Wake up! I don't want to be alone here!" _Something wet hit her cheek. And then it suddenly stopped being funny, because she could hear and recognize those disconnected sounds. The girl was crying.

Crying wasn't funny. It was sad, and had to do with loneliness or grief or… well, sadness. Unless it was connected to hysterics. Because hysterics was a funny word. And people laughed when they were having hysterics, so it was funny. Ha. Ha. Ha. "You're loud. Why're y' so loud…" she said in a barely audible voice. "C'n't y'… be quie' 'r sumthin'?"

Really, why was it so loud? She'd never be able to get some sleep with that racket. Sighing, she opened her eyes wide at the exact moment a tear splashed on her face. "Huh – what?" she said blearily. Now that she was actually awake, she wanted to go back to sleep. But really, it couldn't be helped. She propped herself up on her hands, and was treated to a… sight.

The very small girl she had seen had turned her face away, trying to stop crying. Of course, it was really obvious. Really, really obvious. Obvious as in, getting hit with a mallet in your face, obvious. That had to be the saddest attempt at not crying the girl had ever seen. Just how fake it was made it absolutely hilarious.

She had the faintest idea that this shouldn't be funny at all, but she ignored it. "Hey, why are you…"

She didn't get half-way through her sentence before the girl blurted out, "I'm not crying!" She wasn't sure why the girl was trying to hide it, because it was really, really obvious. The girl's face was still red, and her nose was still leaking snot. And –hey, were those _wood splinters? _She didn't quite remember what a face was supposed to look like, but she was sure that it wasn't supposed to have splinters in it.

Vaguely, she remembered what she was supposed to do with splinters. She was supposed to use tweezers (or toenail clippers – it was one of the two, she just couldn't remember which), and pluck them out one by one. Or, she could do it the _other _way and take out some kind of magic twig, wave it around, and say a few funny-sounding words.

She _knew_ had no tweezers. Or toenail clippers. But the magic twig was in her pocket (even though she didn't even know she had pockets). So. Magic twig it was. Problem that she wasn't exactly sure how to use it. Something about being _fourth-year curriculum _and her being _only a second year. _But she didn't know what even _that_ was supposed to mean, anyway. So it probably wasn't that important.

She was almost sure she knew how to wave the twig around. After all, it was just waving a funny stick around. How hard could that really be? But the funny words she was supposed to say – those, she didn't know. What was it? Abracadabra? Open Sesame? One of the first spells she learned in first year?

…Wait, what was that supposed to mean?

She didn't know what a spell was. She didn't know what first year was. She did however, know how to swish and flick with a magic twig. And say _some _funny words. Now, whether they were the right ones…

_"Wingardium Leviosa."_

She watched as the girl flew, screaming, at least ten feet in the air.

Yep, those weren't the right ones. That was definitely not what she meant to do.

Ah well, it was _funny._

"W-what the h-hell are you _doing_?" the girl shouted with a shaky voice. _"Stop that!"_

She shrugged. "Okay." She put her twig behind her back, and watched as the girl fell from ten feet in the air to the ground. But there was a sense of something being wrong. That feeling grew until there was a very large frown on the nameless girl's face. "Shouldn't you have broken something?" Because that girl… didn't seem to be injured at all. Not even a scratch. Hell, she probably should have _died _since she had been falling head-first.

But she didn't, because of some super-special reason that she didn't know about. It probably didn't matter. Right, that was it. It probably wasn't important at all.

"_What was that for_?"

"Huh?" the girl turned to face the other girl. "What was what?"

"The spell!"

"Oh, uh, I couldn't remember which spell was the one that got out wood splinters, and you kinda had wood splinters… all over…"

"Idiot!" Hey! She took offense to that! "At least you're a good-intentioned idiot." That wasn't much better! "No wonder why you're a Gryffindor…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The girl looked her with a strange expression. "How do you not know?" The girl sighed. "Hufflepuffs are hardworking (that's me), Ravenclaws are smart, Slytherins are cunning, Gryffindors are impulsive. Or, if you look at it in another way, stupid." Then the girl looked at her with wide eyes. "I said that out loud. I said that out loud. I can't believe I said that out loud. I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said that. I should not have told you that!"

"Told me what?" she said, scratching the back of her neck. The girl sighed in relief. She wasn't sure why. By the way, "What's a Gryffindor?"

The girl froze.

* * *

"What's a Gryffindor?"

The moment the girl asked that, Natalie knew something was wrong. A Gryffindor was practically known for being stupid, or (to put it better) too impulsive to think anything through. But this – this went _beyond _stupidity. This was Muggle. Someone so much like a Muggle that they didn't know what they were doing.

That couldn't be right. Barely an hour ago (or two or three – it was impossible to tell), this girl had been completely aware of everything. Hogwarts, fanfiction, and, from the look of the cream puff, definitely a way out of Hogwarts or into the Kitchens. Not knowing what Gryffindor is…

One more question to ask – just to be sure. "What's Hogwarts?"

Her audience stared at her in fascination. "Oh, that's easy. Hog warts! Or pig pimples. Y'know, I didn't know hogs even had warts!" exclaimed the girl excitedly. "Can you show me a picture?"

"A picture…" Natalie trailed off. "This isn't right," she muttered to herself. Whatever what she was before, that girl was now a Muggle. Undeniably Muggle. Yet she had still somehow remembered enough to cast a spell. _How?_

Maybe the girl got hit by an _Obliviate – _but no, Natalie stayed awake and conscious the entire time (although it wasn't the most pleasant experience, she had to admit), and she didn't see a single sign of _life, _let alone a spell. Could it amnesia? Biological, instantaneous, amnesia?

No. That suggestion sounded ridiculous even to _her_.

Maybe this place had something to do with it. She had a good, long while to look at her surroundings. Her rather boring surroundings. The entire place was bathed in a thick, white (slightly grayish) mist. She definitely wasn't brave enough to venture out to see if there was more to this place than mist.

So Natalie pondered. And pondered. And just for the sake of it, pondered some more.

While she was so studiously pondering (and pondering some more) over the background of the strange, amnesiac girl, nobody noticed (as, said before, Natalie was pondering, and the strange girl had gotten bored, now simply looking up at the sky, watching the white mists float around) the odd little light floating through the fog.

The light came closer, revealed as an old-fashioned lantern, the little candle flame flickering haphazardly. An even closer examination, if anyone had been paying attention, would reveal a little, delicate looking hand holding it. Closer again would show the scarred features of a young boy, eyes looking curiously at the scene before him.

It was a rather odd scene. One girl was sitting on the ground, with a serious look so serious it looked plain silly. The position she was sitting in was vaguely reminiscent of a little yellow bear (that may or may not be imaginary) sitting on a log in the Hundred Acre Woods. (He blinked. Where had that thought come from?) The other girl wasn't even trying to be serious and looking at the sky with a happy, oblivious expression. They were both splattered with ink.

He recognized the latter girl's expression. It had been firmly pasted on his own face the first time he saw the mists. The mists were rather hypnotic and interesting. Anyone stuck looking at them for a certain amount of time would literally _be _stuck into them. As in, have your soul removed and used to power more mist. Not exactly a cheerful ending. Unfortunately, it was rather difficult to tell when that certain amount of time had passed, since anything that could be used to tell time often got smashed. He and his sister both thought that this place was doing it entirely on purpose.

And really, what was the harm in looking in the mists? What nice shades of white… how… swirl-y…

…Did he just think that? He shuddered. He really needed to get some sleep.

But nobody could sleep in this world. So there wasn't a point.

Finally, he spoke up. "You shouldn't be staring at that. It's not good for you." There. All the warning he felt like giving at the time.

The girl that was looking at the sky jerked to attention. "Who're you?" Her eyes narrowed, as if he could seriously do anything dangerous. Huh, he _wished_.

Slowly, he stooped to the ground, put down his lantern carefully (wouldn't do for the light to go out), and held his hands up. Well, one hand really. The other one was a stump. The girl didn't seem to notice that, though. "I don't know," he said flatly. He dropped his hands. Bent to his knees. Picked up the lantern. Walked away. And that was that.

Was it really that simple?

No. Of course not.

"Wait!" The girl ran, an odd look on her face. "Where are we?"

"Ah. Newcomers." Strange. So stories were still being deleted? "Well."

The girl began showing signs of irritation. "Well what?" she demanded, hands on hips.

"You're in the Bin." Not feeling as hyper as he normally was, and therefore less likely to explain, he walked away, carrying his lantern.

Unfortunately, the girl decided to follow him, dragging the serious-but-not-really-serious girl with her. "What – hey, what are you-" sputtered the formerly-serious girl. "Let go!" Apparently they weren't on good speaking terms. He noted it all, and set off. He probably wouldn't remember it tomorrow, but it was nice while it lasted.

He got back to the little spot where he and his sister were staying. It was fairly nondescript. A few almost empty packs, only containing a knife and an empty cup. A fire that burned, but didn't really burn, because it never ran out of fuel. He thought it was because in this place, no real time passed. It seemed that he and his sister had been here for years. But no. It didn't look like he had aged a single day. The cut he had gotten the day he arrived hadn't even scabbed over yet.

Meaning it was still gushing blood for no absolute reason at all.

Pity.

* * *

Footsteps. Con could hear them. Probably her brother. Precise and calm.

She snorted. 'Precise and calm' varied. After they had gotten tossed in here, it looked like they had both gotten multiple personality disorder. That didn't correctly describe what exactly they had, but it was close enough for her not to really worry about the details.

To put it simply, their personalities changed continuously. After a few hours (or days, or minutes – extremely hard to tell time), they would become completely different people. They still retained the same memories – it simply tampered with personality. Today was one of her and her brother's 'sane' days. Con probably wouldn't be thinking this deeply about this the next minute. Day. Week. It was really hard to tell. Hell, now that she thought about it, she might not be thinking at all. She grimaced. Con very well remembered one of the 'mindless' days. It was… _creepy_, to say the least.

She turned as the footsteps stopped. "Hello," she greeted her brother. "Where've you been?"

Nick shrugged and set down one of the precious two lanterns they had brought with them. "Walking. Looking around. Found them." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Footsteps. Fast and rushed. Ragged breathing.

Two girls came running out of the mist. Strange, but that was because they never got any visitors, so that was okay. Con assessed them with a critical eye. Obviously, rather out of shape. One shorter than the other by maybe a centimeter or so. Wearing robes as well. Robes with red and yellow crests. Con squinted. Somehow, those crests looked familiar. A lion and a badger. Interesting. She couldn't remember anything about it, but nobody remembered anything all, so that was okay.

"H-hey…" One girl panted. "What's the Bin?"

Con glanced at her brother, who was trying rather determinedly not to look at anyone. Was it also one of his 'antisocial' (emo/goth/whatever) days too? "Trash Bin," Con answered in place of her brother. "Where deleted things go to. Documents, pictures, music – all that." As if on cue, a little strain of a melody drifted past. Con remembered it well. It used to be a song, but as it spent more and more time here, the words had faded away, and now there were only a few notes left of it. A little sad, if she thought about it, but she never thought too deeply about it. It wouldn't be the best idea. Because then she would be depressed, and if she was depressed, she wouldn't be okay.

One of the girls (Con judged that it was the older one) now had a panicked expression on her face. "Ah, so you know what it is?" she asked.

The older one shrugged, her expression quickly going blank. "Yeah."

Then there was silence. Con was never comfortable with silence (or at least, the personality she had now wasn't), and broke it. "So, introductions?"

More silence. Con sighed. She didn't like having to break silences herself. It always became awkward. "I'm Con. He's Nick." Or at least that's who they thought they were. After a while, it was extremely hard to remember names. "You?"

The younger of the two stared. Finally, "I'm Natalie."

The older stayed silent, thinking. "Well?" Con probed.

Again, finally, "I don't know," she said cheerfully.

But Con accepted it all with a nod. "That's not uncommon. That's really what the Bin does to you. Takes memories." No, that wasn't all of it - _Sneak up so slowly, slowly, and take some of your old childhood memories, which you rarely think about. Then some of your younger memories. Those achievements which you're so proud of. Then, your name. _Con shook her head. _And then, it goes even further. Takes away your ability to speak. Ability to see. Ability to hear. Everything. Then, when you're in a world without sound or sight, your ability to breathe. And, if that doesn't work - _She'd seen it happen. Not pretty.

Natalie was silent, thinking it over. Nick was silent, because he wanted to be silent. The other girl was silent because she couldn't remember what there was to worry about. And Con was silent, because she didn't know what to say.

Why was everyone so quiet? Would she have to speak for everything and everyone? Con shot a glare at her brother. Talk, somebody! Somebody- just – speak. Talk. Yell. She didn't care. Just – somebody. She let out a slow breath. That somebody would have to be her. Again.

"Over there." Con pointed out the thinnest piece of mist, which barely allowed an observer a view of a dark, blurred shape. "It's Permanent Delete."

The two girls glanced at it. One looked away. The other stared fixedly at it, as if trying to make out what it actually was through the mist.

Con though, knew what it was. She knew all too well.

Her brother even more so.

But that was okay. Because even though her brother lost a hand to it, and they had both lost their minds, it was all okay. Because nothing mattered, really. They weren't getting out, weren't getting out anyway.

She reached into her pocket, fingering the two halves of her wand. She couldn't use magic anymore, not after they landed in the Bin, and cracked her wand. Oh no, she couldn't, but the ends of her splintered wand were jagged, sharp. It would be easy just to… slip.

Con shook her head lightly. Suicidal tendencies were most definitely a Bad Thing.

* * *

Slowly, the girl made a decision. "The Bin doesn't sound all that good," she said slowly.

"That's an understatement," Natalie said, staring at the fire.

The girl ignored Natalie. "Anyway out?" She asked Con and Nick.

Nick finally turned around. "Two choices," he muttered. "Either somebody decides to restore, and we hitch a ride, or we come through the Forest." Speaking louder, he continued. "And, so you will not ask me this later, (oh, yes, I know about people like you, and it's _annoying_) by restore, I mean 'undelete' (that's not a word, is it?), and by forest, I mean Permanent Delete. And before you say anything else, yes, if you go through that forest, you will get permanently deleted. But a lot of us end up there and there is more of a chance of being able to get out if we are right there. Get it?"

"…Bloody hell," Con mumbled after a shocked silence. "That's the most I've ever seen you talk at one time." But it was her brother, and if he was talking more than he should be, should she be worried?

"Shut it."

"Okay." No, Con decided. He was perfectly fine.

"So. There is a way out?" The girl enunciated her words carefully, so they could hear her perfectly fine and not suffer any misunderstandings.

Nick started coughing when Con started speaking. "Well, yeah. It'll be hard to find (cough*understatement*cough) but it's possible (cough*overstatement*cough)."

"All right." The girl smiled cheerily, and flicked her wand. "_Lumos."_ The tip of the wand (again, ten inches, hickory, and dragon heartstring –there's no reason to let you forget) lit up with a dull light. She frowned. "Oh, it's not the best…" She shrugged. Eh, who cared? "See ya!" And, still rather cheerfully, she set off into the mist. Or rather, she would have, if she had not found a hand pulling on her shoulder.

Looking back, she saw Natalie leveling a blank stare at her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm… leaving?" the girl said confusedly. "Ummm…" Everyone seemed to be looking at her in shock. "Well…" She started waving her wand about, looking like she was trying to explain something. Really, she was. It wasn't her fault they took 'I'm leaving' that seriously. And, seeing that they weren't saying anything at all, she once again set off.

Of course, she got stopped. Again.

"You're making me confused," the girl stated, brushing off the hand on her arm. "Do you want me to stay or go? I'd honestly rather go, but-"

"I'm going with you," said Natalie calmly. "I do not want to stay with _them_." She stressed the last word, as if in disgust. Or horror. Or maybe something else entirely. It was rather hard to tell.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that we were being nice."

Con had a corresponding raised eyebrow. "Apparently not."

The girl blinked, and shrugged. "Eh, I don't care. Far be it from me to keep other people away from the light." And, saying so, she strode off, the little glowing light of her wand starting to fade from sight.

* * *

_You know, _the girl considered, _nobody really needs names to get around._

It was simple. You see someone in the crowd that you know on sight, you don't tend to ask them their names. No, you held a proper conversation on them, and when that person finally goes away, smiling and waving, you realize you forgot to ask them their name, and shrug and say, next time. Only you never end up knowing their name, because for each 'next time' you always forgot.

Besides, 'you' worked perfectly fine. She'd forgotten Connie-something-or-the-other's names already. 'You' definitely worked all right.

Speaking of somebody and somebody else, how'd they end up the 'leaders' of this? Come on, they didn't even have the idea of looking for a way out. They weren't even considering looking until she just went up and said, 'here I am, and I'm leaving! Bye!' Huh, now that she thought about it, nobody had that idea. NOBODY.

Wow. Frankly, now that she heard everything about the Bin, she was rather surprised that she remembered enough to remember what was annoying anymore. 'Cause really? Whoa – now the clouds were way too pretty for her to be stressed out about that. Pretty, pretty, clouds.

She wasn't aware of what the clouds were doing. Any memory she had left, if she had thought about it, would seem to be covered by swirling mist. But the girl happily looked up and down. Down because, since the fog was so thick, it was a surprise every time her foot hit the ground. She half-expected for her to be able to step on top of the mist. It'd be nice. She'd like to try it, but she knew it couldn't work. That, and she wasn't sure that she and her magic twig (no, it was a wand) would be able to do that.

"Stop!" Ah. Connie. Or whatever her name was. She didn't care. Behind her, she felt someone nudge her. Natalie. It probably wasn't so much as a nudge as a 'whoops, I accidentally bumped into you. She couldn't help feeling smug over the fact that, even though she wasn't the 'leader' of this 'expedition', she was still at the front. Well, she was behind Connie, and really that wasn't saying much since there was only four people here anyway, but, well, there was still two people behind her, and normally that wouldn't be much of an accomplishment but again it was four people and –

She was rambling. That probably wasn't a good sign. Not that she really knew what a good sign was, but it seemed like it was the right thing to think, and – she was rambling again, wasn't she?

Shaking her head, she looked around Connie. There, sitting in their path was a girl. Granted, extremely hard to see, as the girl was half hidden in the mist, but a girl anyway. She shrugged. She didn't get what they were stopping for, but there had to be a reason. "Just go around-" Ah. Easier pathway. But really, there wasn't much of a point anyway. Ah well. She should be nice enough to oblige.

She was slightly freaked out at the blank stare the girl was given, but ignored it. Well, until she trod on the girl's leg. In her defense, it was very hard to see.

There was a very audible crack. She gave a wince. "Sorry," she said to the girl's blank, milky-white eyes.

"Don't be," Nick said, eying the staring girl. "She doesn't notice."

* * *

There were a lot of blankly-staring people. She tried talking to one of them (because she was really rather bored). It was a boy. A rather small one, but he was actually standing upright. She took that as a good sign (as Natalie had been very patiently explaining what was a good sign and wasn't) that he was ever so slightly more alive than the others. She was wrong. He simply fell over and closed his eyes, as if to go to sleep. She saw that he wasn't breathing. She wasn't sure why.

Oh well. Who cared? (If she had, she could have asked Con or Nick, and would be rewarded with a reply that said all of the rather dead-looking people were severely damaged files. But she didn't so she didn't.)

There were some scuffling sounds behind her, but she didn't care about those either. That is, until she realized dear _Connie _had stopped too. She scoffed. Some leader. She looked back, to see what all the trouble was.

Apparently, some boy had tackled Nick the moment he saw them all trudging through the mist. Closer examination revealed a skeletal, sunken-in face, a just-as-skeletal body, and – well, his eyes weren't exactly milky-white, but it was like someone had a put a very thin film of thick, white, gooey, somewhat luminous, cream over them. "You…you're trying to get out?" he whispered. His voice was rough and harsh, and he seemed to be grabbing Nick's shoulders so hard that it was enough to draw blood.

Nick gave a short, jerky nod. And suddenly, the boy began giggling. Giggling, and then it burst out into full-out laughter. His voice cracked, and his lips seemed to be leaking blood. Well, that wasn't precise. It wasn't his lips. It looked a lot like he was actually choking on blood. In fact, he was. That didn't seem to stop or slow the laughing, not one bit. Further behind him was a group of boys and girls, looking worried. Worn out, worried, and silently staring.

While the rest of the group of four was caught staring as well, she wondered if she could just edge away slowly. Or knock them out. Because she remembered that she could knock people out with her wand. Speaking of which, it had stopped glowing.

She glanced back at the others. A gaunt girl was now standing over the boy, patting his back, wincing as the blood shot out. "We're sorry," she said quietly. "But we would appreciate it if you would let us…" She seemed to be searching for the right word. "Accompany you." Then her voice took on a pleading tone. "Please. Our mental health isn't – isn't managing well," she finished lamely.

What an understatement.

"Er…" Natalie examined them, a dubious look in her eyes. "I, uh, really-"

"Of course," Con and Nick cut in smoothly, simultaneously, smirking. She never noticed how alike they really were. When they had first met, which had to be barely an hour ago, they had seemed like opposites. Or, well, not opposites. Just something and something not. It wasn't really that obvious, but it was understood that one was not like the other. Now, well…

She thought that they both wanted human shields.

It was almost... cute.

(Maybe it was 'cute'. Maybe. Now, if only she could remember the meaning of that word. Vaguely, she wondered if that was the right word to use, but disregarded it. It probably wasn't important anyway.)

She narrowed her eyes as the girl sighed in relief. "Thank you," the girl said, apparently grateful. The boy next to her wasn't laughing anymore, or at least not continuously; he was still chuckling every now and then, but it was much better than before. He didn't look as much as a maniac now, though the blood dripping from his mouth certainly cemented that image into her brain.

She tilted her head to the side. "What do you do?"

"Do?" The girl looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Although that girl had no idea what she meant, Con and Nick both had. "What do you have to offer?" asked Nick, lantern held high.

The girl's eyes were wide now, staring hungrily at the little golden flame. "O-of-fer?" she stammered, fixed upon that light.

"Skills," Con helpfully provided, taking the chance to lift her own lantern higher. "Abilities. Ex-per-tise."

And then the girl opened her mouth. "Well, all of us have some knowledge on how to duel." She spoke quickly, as if she hoped that she could cram all the information she could before somebody cut her off. "We've learned some things from the Auror curriculum. We've also go, some hexes, some curses-"

"Verlene!" The boy next to her (still dripping blood) snapped to attention. "What are you doing?" he hissed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "You don't even know them, and-" He trailed off as he examined the rest of the group.

Verlene, not concerned at all with the boy, kept on talking. Others from that group of boys and girls stepped forward, all contributing their part to get their own share of the light.

What was the word that described that? The word that described the way they looked up at the lantern, that wide-eyed stare and mechanical voice. Because that was what they sounded like. Mechanical, reciting meaningless information as long as they could see the lantern. Even so, she listened anyway. She paid no attention to the names. Names weren't that important. Just a few syllables to tell what something is or is not. Names didn't tell people what you were, only what they were supposed to call you. 'What' was much better than the question 'who?'

And 'what' these people were? They were very interesting people indeed.

A smile idly played on her lips.

She didn't notice it at all.

But that was all right. Because if she didn't notice it, it was definitely not important.

Not important at all.

* * *

Natalie was scared. She didn't care what people thought now. She wasn't a Gryffindor. She didn't have to be brave all the time.

She was scared, scared, scared.

OCs – that was indeed what they were. Hogwarts students – that was indeed what they were. And that was the only things that Those Peopleshared with her. Those Peoplesaid they were from a fanfiction where something took over. Something dark, evil. What else could make Hogwarts the way Theyhad described it? What else would have made Themthe way Theysaid They were? They said that when It took over, It made Hogwarts into a Dark Wizard training area. Everything, anything, that needed to be done was taught there. It was all to pump out little soldiers – _Them – _to work for It so It could take everything. Didn't matter what age They were. They were _all _murderers. _All _soldiers that worked for It.

_They had confessed what they done for It. They had confessed that They didn't care. They confessed that it was likely They would do it again if ordered by It._

Why wasn't anyone else scared by this?

Con and Nick – well, she had already concluded that they were unpleasant. Manipulative. Unpleasant, manipulative, nine-year-olds (_because they were little kids, she didn't notice that at first but that was all right, it was only the panic don't worry you're not going insane like them_)That, and she couldn't shake off the feeling that they wanted to use them all as human shields for whatever worse might come. The other girl, she felt some empathy (or was that sympathy) for her. Or at least, she didn't feel like screaming out to the world that the nameless one was crazy. At least that girl had an excuse, since she didn't remember anything. And if she was hearing correctly, that _was _a normal excuse in this place.

Paranoid as Natalie was (_it wasn't paranoid, she was just concerned, that's all, and it was only paranoid if she was wrong and she was RIGHT right right _), she had decided to ask Nick and Con. Their experience _not much of one _should give her some passable answers. (_Even if they were nine-year-olds_).

Yeah…no.

Her first question about if They might kill everyone (after all, the other girl did say Their mental state wasn't very stable, and They were already murderers) was answered with "Honestly, I don't give a shit."

That was when she started getting worried. (Honestly, she should have considered that _her _four-person group was insane too.)

Another was "Why were they so desperate?" Really, all of Them were manipulated with just a little candle. A _candle. _And, if she had lit her own wand, probably by that too. Why was that? The answer, "This is what happens when they forget the happy memories, and they _know _they're forgetting." Natalie didn't understand any of that, and had said, "What?"

And Con smiled, patted her on the back, and enunciated slowly, as if speaking something very obvious, "They forgot what light looked like."

Natalie shuddered. This was sadistic, sadistic place. Bad memories were only tolerable when there were good memories to balance it out. When there weren't any good memories to be found, it all fell into chaos. Or, from the looks of the group, insanity. Absolute insanity. In fact, everyone was so insane, that all_Nick_of_Con_them_NoName_ might be murderers. Well, with the exception of Natalie. She was, in fact, a perfectly normal, non-homicidal, first year.

The problem was that, of course, nobody else was.

_Scared, scared, scared, scared…_

She was no Gryffindor.

_But I'm in this anyway…_

It didn't matter. Tightly, she clenched her wand and her electric-blue quill (_how was she still holding it?_) and continued walking.

_Scared scared scared scared scared…_


	3. In Which Comes The Sue

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Does anyone actually read this notes? Even if you don't, might as well say.

One: thank you to the people who reviewed. I appreciate it, really. Reviews make people happy, and I'm no exception. Though I suppose this story is going to drop dead at some point.

And, Two: The next two chapters will come fairly quickly, because they've been already been rewritten for a while. All they need is a quick edit. But after that, you're in for a long wait. If I/you are incredibly lucky, then a week, maybe a month. If not? Two, three, maybe four years? After chapter five, I've got only a half-written chapter six - writer's block on that one - and because I wasn't smart and didn't have any plot for the first time, I have no plot for the second time around. Gonna have to think about it...

I'm not very good at thinking about things.

Like I said, you're in for a long wait.

* * *

**In Which Comes The Sue**

_I'll have a look inside your mind _

_And tell you where you belong!_

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Roldgang, Quipea!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Quipea Roldgang ducked out from under the Sorting Hat and stumbled to the House table. Ravenclaw was a bit of a surprise. For one, her family never really had a House legacy. People of her family were a mixed-up mush of all the Houses. Her own immediate family was an example; Father was a Gryffindor, Mother was a Ravenclaw, her older sister was a Slytherin, and her barely older brother was a Hufflepuff. And, for a more personal reason, well, she just never considered herself _smart._

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

She mechanically clapped for the next Ravenclaw person Sorted. Oh well, if the Sorting Hat thought she was smart, then she had to be smart. That, or she just wasn't brave enough, hard-working enough, or cunning enough to be put in the other Houses, and Ravenclaw had been the default because she was at least _slightly _smarter than the average wizard. Which was fine, she acknowledged that she wasn't all that good at all the other House's traits. Blue and bronze were nice colors, anyway. Eagles were nice too, even though she really didn't get why the House mascot was an eagle when the House was called _Raven_claw. Ravens were nice too, because they were the House mascot in the movie (maybe, she wasn't really all that sure, possibly, it was just a very, very warped picture of a black eagle – which, now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure existed in the first place). And, really, she wasn't angsting over the hat's choice of House, so she supposed she was okay where she was. Although the reason why she wasn't complaining could also be that she was the fact that she was glad it was over. She didn't like people staring at her like she was their dinner. Staring at her, smacking their lips, getting fork and knife ready to cut into her, and _blood everywhere, and cannibalism_ – Argh! Mental images! _Mental images!_

While Quipea was scrubbing away at her eyes (rationally, she knew it wouldn't do any good; irrationally, she thought that _if she could just scrub this part harder_…), she barely noticed someone sit down right next to her.

"Hiya!" said a cheerful, slightly manic, voice.

"_AAck-!" _Quipea choked on her own spit. (Yes, that is possible.)

"Huh, um - Oi!" Somebody clapped her roughly on her back. "Sorry!" the voice said sheepishly, in the same cheerful, slightly manic tone. "Didn't mean to!"

Coughing, Quipea looked up. Smiling awkwardly at her was the girl who had just been Sorted. "Sorry," she said. "Didn't think you'd choke – I mean, there wasn't really much you could actually choke on because there wasn't any food and I thought – well, first I thought you were overreacting because-" Babbling, Quipea decided hazily. She didn't think Ravenclaws babbled. Gryffindor, maybe, Hufflepuff, maybe. It wasn't like those two houses actually prized the ability to talk without spilling your guts. Though, if anyone from Slytherin babbled, they probably would have been slaughtered immediately by their Housemates. It'd give a pretty bad image to the House that prided itself on cunning. Cunning people weren't supposed to babble. "Well, yeah but I didn't see any food – sorry- I didn't realize that you would – Choke, and if you choked you would die and if you died I would be in really really big trouble, because dying ain't all that good, you know? Dying isn't living and then I'd be accused of murder and that wouldn't be good because I'd be sent to Azkaban and then I would get my soul sucked out and that would be bad. And-"

"Apology accepted," Quipea rasped, hoping that she wasn't drawing that much attention. Really, she wasn't, as the very loud clapping noise made by everyone clapping for the next person Sorted covered the more quiet noise of somebody choking to death, but she didn't know that.

"I, uh, well-" the girl scratched the back of her neck – "yeah, I'm still sorry. I'm Anise Tillspur, by the way. Who're you?"

"Uh – Quipea Roldgang."

"Well, Quip – Quip –Qui – you've got a really strange name, do you know that?"

"Duly noted," Quipea replied wryly. She had no idea how her author had managed to choose that name. It started with 'Q', too, an already strange letter to start a girl's name. But it was her name, nevertheless. Granted, 'Anise' wasn't much better, but it was a little shorter, and there wasn't a big debate on how to pronounce it (actually, there was, between Anise's author and the majority of the audience, oddly enough, even though Anise had a perfectly correct and normal pronunciation, but she didn't know that).

"Can I call you Quip?" Anise asked, fixing her gaze on a nearby floating candle.

Quipea also looked at the floating candle. Although she was no Muggleborn, that was just plain strange. (In the back of her mind, she wondered how the wax wasn't dripping on them.) At least the purebloods used chandeliers. Crystal, sometimes diamond, embellished with silver, chandeliers (sometimes with emeralds), but chandeliers. "Sure. Okay." Were the floating candles actually book-canon? She couldn't remember. She knew they were canon in the movie, but she just wasn't sure about the book. She decided to ask. "Anise, were there floating candles in the book?" The question was vague enough that, if Anise had been a very minor canon, only mentioned by name, she wouldn't know what Quipea was talking about in the first place.

"Well… wow. I don't know," said Anise, sounding stunned. Quipea raised an eyebrow. This wasn't the response she was hoping for. It was vague enough that meant either Anise was an OC too, or she had no idea what Quipea was talking about. Great. More complications. She shrugged. Probably wasn't important, and – wait. The moment an OC thought something wasn't important (the expression on her face was slowly changing from indifference to horror), then author would decide that, yes, it would be important, and yes, you're stupid for not thinking so. Quipea didn't mind that. That wasn't important (she shuddered as she used the word again). But what was important (shudder) was exactly what the author would do to make something important. Maybe a quest, or a side-story. Or maybe something vicious including an army and some dragons. She shuddered. No, don't think about that. Concentrate on the Sorting. The nice, non-threatening, Sorting with the singing Hat and the Ravenclaw and the Slytherin and the Gryffindor and the Hufflepuff.

And quickly, time passed, until, finally, 'Whitby, Kevin!' was called (Hufflepuff), many of the students became silent, waiting Dumbledore to give his speech, and, more importantly, get the food.

Of course, that didn't happen.

Instead, a girl strode up to the little Sorting stool. Normally, anyone older than a first year sitting on aforementioned stool looked ridiculous (think giant sitting on a water fountain), but this girl managed to pull it off, with a regal, imperious air. Of course, this girl wasn't any normal girl. This girl had raven-dark, midnight black, gleaming hair, shining with sparkles like rainbow-diamond-ruby-topaz-emerald-stars. This girl had striking gray eyes (_grey_ sounded much better to the girl, it was supposed to be more British, right?), tinted with the slightest tinge of sapphire blue, stormy and cloudy, with flashes of lightning, doves flying through the sky with olive branches in their beaks, and no sign of the storm ever relenting, rain sheeting down, along with golf-ball sized chunks of hail, and -

That metaphor was a bit overextended. To the author, it sort of stopped making sense halfway. To you, Honored Readers, you might have a more vivid imagination than the author does. To you, Honored Readers, you might have been able to make some sense out of that metaphor. To you, Honored Readers, if you do, then the author wonders how you can imagine golf-ball sized chunks of hail and olive-branch bearing doves in someone's eyes. Especially since the hail is specially sized at golf-ball sized, which is definitely bigger than an eye. The author certainly can't imagine that in a logical setting. Of course, a school of witchcraft and wizardry wasn't exactly logical, in that sense…

Quipea was just as confused as the narrator (yeah, yeah, yeah, the author is being inconsistent, narrator, author, there's not that much of a difference) was, though for a much different reason. Being an OC, she could hear at least some bits of narration. Including the one I'm using right now, but that's not really important. What _was _important was how she could hear every single, mind-wrenching, disgusting, horrifying, screwy, gruesome (could go on for a while, but for plot's sake, we'll stop here) piece of Purple Prose (or, if you prefer, Urple Prose, the difference is that Urple is just that much more painful to the eyes) used.

"Dear Quippy," Anise said gravely, "_That – _that, is a Mary Sue.

Quipea stared in disbelief at the angrily muttering girl. Well, she didn't know that the Sue was angrily muttering, but you certainly do, dear readers. "That's a Sue?" Quipea asked incredulously. The cause of her disbelief? The appearance of the Sue. I imagine that she thought a Sue would be grand, and dramatic, and curvy in the right places. The only Sue-like thing about the girl was a thin coat of shimmering golden, diamond, gem-like glitter. If you removed the glitter, you would have a fashionably pretty girl in dark, raven-feathered robes, which were trimmed with embroideries, encrusted with jewels, with a flared, ruffled skirt.

Anise glared at Quipea as if she could read her mind. "Oh, I know what you're thinking. That's what they want you to think." Then she wrinkled her nose. "Wait, 'fashionably pretty?' 'Raven-feather robes?' _That's _your idea of normal?"

* * *

Neville Longbottom never thought of himself as a very capable wizard. The rest of the school agreed.

His Transfiguration was awful, his Charms decent, Potions downright abysmal (Snape didn't do much for his self-esteem). He was all right in Astronomy, but nobody ever seemed to remember that anyway. Then Care of Magical Creatures, which classes made him afraid for his life on a very regular basis. Then Divination, which most everyone hated anyway. Next came Defense Against Dark Arts; decent again (the only time he really enjoyed that class was when Professor Lupin was teaching – not a lot of people knew why Lupin quit, but they sorely missed his lessons). The only real bright spot on his school career was Herbology, which made him wonder why he was a Gryffindor in the first place, since Herbology was a Hufflepuff subject. He wasn't brave, or, failing that, arrogant or outgoing or something, or even all that good at Transfiguration (the Gryffindor subject). He definitely wasn't smart or ambitious like Ravenclaw or Slytherin. No, he was an average sort of wizard, who simply wanted people to leave him alone in his own quiet corner of the world. That really made him wonder why he wasn't a Hufflepuff. Not many Hufflepuffs stood out, after all.

So, when he noticed something unusual about the girl who was much prettier (and odd-looking) than any girl he'd ever seen, he thought nothing of it. After all, who noticed what _Longbottom _said? (He noticed that, even if a wizard or witch was homeschooled, they always attended their first year at Hogwarts, and that, if someone didn't attend the first year, the Sortings would be done, very discretely, _before _the school term actually started, by one of the professors. That, and when he was looking at the girl, all sorts of metaphors came up in his head which didn't even make sense.)

Besides, even if one was a first year, one did not jam a Sorting Hat on your head, demand to be Sorted, and have a verbal argument with a hat on where you should be Sorted. (Well, he saw one first year do that once. The Sorting Hat didn't seem very happy.)

Oddly enough, although the argument was rather loud, _no one _seemed to notice at all.

"_Don't – no, I don't want you here! I will not Sort you!"_

"Oh yeah? You refuse me? Look here, bud. You are a Hat. HATS do not argue with their OWNERS!"

_"You do not own me!"_

"YOU SERVE HOGWARTS!"

_"Yes, I SERVE HOGWARTS! Not YOU, you miserable little-"_

Finally, after a while (a full hour – some of the students started grumbling), the Hat gave a great shudder, and screamed out, "SLYTHERIN!"

The girl smiled, and made to take off the Hat. Unfortunately, the Hat wasn't done yet.

"GRYFFINDOR! HUFFLEPUFF! RAVENCLAW! ELF! PANCAKES! SLYTHERIN! SPARKLYPOO! KHAAAAAAAAAAANNNN!" Then, before anyone could make a move, it burst into flames and started screaming, running on the stubby, ragged remains of its brim to the Gryffindor House table, where it did one final flip before it collapsed into ash.

Neville blinked. On Hermione's suggestion, he'd skimmed through Hogwarts: A History a few times. There was a section especially made for the Sorting Hat. And this was not supposed to happen. His memory wasn't that good, but he was pretty sure that that could on no terms be actually possible. Maybe he was hallucinating. It wouldn't be the first time (and unfortunately, probably not the last).

In fact, he probably was.

Oh well. He'd wait through the speech, enjoy the food, and then forget any of this ever happened.

Yes. That would work.

Because nobody noticed what Longbottom said.

* * *

"How is that possible?" Quipea asked, eye twitching. The question was easily lost in the sea of murmurs and screams. The Sue's Sorting had raised a lot of confusion and surprised. From her viewpoint at the table, she could even see the professors gaping. Even Dumbledore. Now, dear readers, you should know that if Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore is surprised, He-of-the-Madly-Twinkling-Blue-Eyes, the Phoenix Headmaster, He-of-the-Strange-Sometimes-Glowing-Purple-Robes, the Lemon Drop King – then there is definitely something wrong.

"It… It isn't," Anise replied, in an awed tone of voice, which quickly turned to annoyance. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Quipea looked back at Anise with an impeding feeling of doom. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't really like Sues, they're really, really irritating," Anise said, keeping her eyes on the heap of ashes that was the Sorting Hat (which was sending up a new little gust of emerald-silver sparks). "But I gotta admire what they can do for drama." She nodded, her eyes closed. "Yep! Just look at that. Us OCs couldn't get a better reaction if we tried." She immediately had a thoughtful look on her face. "But of course, that's only because our authors aren't as wacky…"

"Um." Quipea sincerely hoped that she wasn't stuck with someone insane. Please. Not again. Not after that last story. She was not going to end up jumping off the building because her friend had gotten such a convincing argument that she simply had to do it. Or end up painting the entire house (while Roldgang was an old family, it wasn't necessarily a _rich _family) pink in the name of pranking. Or something.

Finally, after a while, Dumbledore began clapping mechanically, the twinkle gone from his piercing blue eyes. The professors followed suit, though the applause was scattered, as if they were too shocked to properly give a standing ovation. Or, well, sitting ovation, since none of them really cared enough to stand up. In fact, none of the students cared enough to clap. They were staring rather blankly at the heap of ashes that used to be the Sorting Hat (now it was sending up little bronze-blue tongues of flame).

Of course, none of the Slytherins would ever _dare _be so undignified as to gape like those uncivilized apes! Well, no, not exactly. Normally, they would, but now, they were gaping. Rather openly, in fact. Only a few Slytherins weren't shocked enough to completely lose their pureblood composure. Their very dignified, not gape-y, pureblood composure.

And with a world-weary, downtrodden voice, Albus Dumbledore, sounding like he desperately needed a lemon drop, said the doomed words. "Please, since the Sorting Hat has-" and here he mumbled something that sounded very similar to "spontaneously combusted" – "feel free to choose whichever House you would like." The creepiest part was that he was still smiling the grandfatherly smile that made you instantly feel guilty for, say, stealing a cookie five years ago.

Quipea still didn't regret taking that cookie. Because, come on! It was triple-chocolate-chip! Chocolate cookie, with chunks of more chocolate, all dipped in chocolate. Delicious. And she was never sure how to make some herself…

And the Sue, seemingly looking unguilty for making the Hat spontaneously combust (_bitch, _Quipea thought rather uncourteously), gave a beautifully grateful, yet ungrateful at the same time, smile. "Thank you, Headmaster," she said in a respectful tone that was somehow condescending at the same time. Then she went off to sit with the Slytherins, who were looking quite disgusted. Quipea could see one Slytherin quickly edge away from where the Sue was sitting. She commended the Slytherin for good sense.

After all, Slytherins and Ravenclaws were like brothers and sisters and sisters and brothers. Except Ravenclaws tended to stay neutral in public opinion. Everyone put up with Ravenclaws. Poor Hufflepuffs didn't have quite the same House immunity, being sneered at and pitied by many of the other Houses. Something about being leftovers.

Speaking of leftovers, the food the house elves prepared must have gotten cold by now.

Quipea was starving. She hadn't anything to eat on the train (too busy looking out the window and thinking imaginative thoughts and reading, being the bookworm Ravenclaw she was), or before that – she'd been too nervous too eat. And when the food arrived to the Great Hall, the food would be cold. Dear Merlin. Fuzzily, she thought she was overreacting, but dismissed the thought and starting hoping the house elves had a way to keep food warm after it had been sitting on the plate for more than an hour.

Quipea was not disappointed. Her smile grew, as she noticed drifts of steam rising from the food. Hot food. Warm food. Not-at-all cold food. Like roasts, and hams, and roast chickens, and soup, and…

Her eyes glazed over (like glazed donuts, only not as tasty, and not edible, and probably not covered in chocolate) as she took in the entirety of the banquet. Anise chuckled as she picked up her fork. "First time at a Hogwarts feast?"

Quipea could only nod. She had never seen this much food in her life. Of course, that wasn't really saying much, because she tended to exaggerate lots and lots of things. Really, even her memories were a bit exaggerated as well. It didn't really help with tests and quizzes and things like that.

Then something registered in her mind. "What do you mean, 'first time'? I'm a first year! Of course it's my first time?" Huh. That statement came out as a question. Not exactly what she wanted, but a question must always have an answer, and she would very much like to know that answer.

Anise gave her a look that could have been called a frown. It actually looked a little like a very demented smile. Quipea couldn't decide which. "Well. No. Not necessarily." Anise bit into a baked potato. "We'll-" And then Anise's speech turned into a collection of incomprehensible mutters. Quipea, not knowing how to understand someone when their mouth was entirely full (most of her family were either too absorbed in their own thoughts or in their food to think about talking to someone else during a meal), simply nodded and concentrated on a sizable wedge of frosted chocolate cake (she wasn't the type of person who cared whether dessert or dinner came first. And, well, if it was there…).

* * *

"What?" Hermione repeated blankly, as she stared at the heap of ashes that was the Sorting Hat (now it was emitting a strange, thick, red-gold smoke).

Now, dear readers, you should know who Miss Hermione Jean Granger is. She is a bookish, enthusiastic, bushy-haired, tiny genius, who would have done rather well in Ravenclaw. While some of what I said is debatable (I haven't forgotten about the movie, where her hair is wavy, not bushy, and the fanfiction version of Hermione, Miss 'Curves-In-All-the-Right-Places' and 'oh, I totally don't care about homework anymore!'), the majority of it is true, if you remember. Now, if you would remember, Hermione having to repeat things is a common occurrence, needing to slow down to explain her intentions (and homework) to her less-than-sharp peers. But having to repeat things since she is confused – that is when you know something is surprising.

Next to her, in a similar state, was most of the Gryffindor House table.

Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived (I do hope you know that, since it would rather ruin the point of reading fanfiction if you didn't) was openly gaping at the Hat. As was the rest of the Gryffindor House table. Some were eating. Some were drinking. Some, even more, were taking out their wands with suspicious eyes. And all of them were openly gaping. Really, it is quite possible to eat and gape at the same time. It is simply the matter of keeping your eyes focused upon an object while doing something else. Of course, not a lot of Gryffindors were neat, mainly because, since they were looking at the Hat (now there were little yellow and black diamonds floating above it), they weren't quite as focused on their food as they should have been, resulting on little splatters and splats all over the very nice tablecloth.

Absently, Hermione reached for a goblet of pumpkin juice. She missed by a couple of inches and ended up knocking it over with her arm. It spilled onto the tablecloth and dripped onto her lap. She barely noticed.

She had noticed the girl's strange appearance, yes. It had to impossible not to. What the girl was wearing was strange, bizarre, and garish, with an oddly pretty undertone to it (she wasn't sure how, it was so covered in glitter and ruffles that normally, it could barely be even called pretty), but it was nothing, nothing at all. What was important was the Sorting Hat.

Hermione winced as she thought about it. Such an ancient relic, made by Godric Gryffindor himself. And now it was….it was…

She glanced at the ashes again (now it seemed to be sprouting flowers) and whimpered.

Fried. Destroyed. Broken. Burned. Killed. And really, it did seem to be killed. Because, even though it was a Hat, it was a Hat that had, three years ago, spoken to her and Sorted her. Or, if not killed, (she eyed the red and gold roses the Hat had generated) driven mad. It was…sad.

It was horrible. Some of the first years didn't think so. Having just gotten here, most of them didn't know what was unusual or not. In fact, one of the first years applauded the Headmaster for such a good display and cheerfully said it was a fun way to start the year.

Fun. The destruction of a highly valued item of Gryffindor. Fun. Hermione couldn't see the connection.

Ron Weasley finally broke the state of shock (which was rather unusual for him. He wasn't normally a peacemaker. He was more of the one who needed to be at peace). He said, simply and plainly, "That's just not normal."

Hermione shook her head, partly to agree with Ron, partly to clear her head. "No. It isn't. You can't break the Sorting Hat just by putting it on." She thought about it some more, and corrected herself. "No normal witch could, I mean."

"So you think the girl's odd?" asked Harry, as he glanced at his steak.

They stared at him, then at the glitter-encrusted girl.

"Okay. Stupid question. I know."

* * *

"So. What do you think about the Sue?" asked Anise.

Quipea looked back at the Sorting Hat (now it seemed to be growing glowing crystals). "Erm."

Anise nodded with the utmost seriousness. "Erm. That's a good answer."

"…Really?"

"Yes. Rather accurate, in fact."

"…You're strange."

"You don't think I already know that?"

* * *

Kaliana Zenith Eventide Veraharthe (for that was who the Sue was) sighed a beautiful sigh like a breezy wind sweeping gently through silver bells and gracefully rubbed her piercing sapphire-emerald-amethyst-diamond-glitter-pearl eyes.

To put it in a rather un-Sue-like way, she felt like shit.

Another silver-bell sigh. She wouldn't normally say it like _that,_ (so crude. She would have rather said, 'charmingly sleepy') but that was indeed what she was. Master gave properly dramatic instructions (of course, drama is good), but lately, everything Master did was about drama. Drama didn't help her here. Even though she was a Sue, she hadn't gotten any instructions. The necklace that was supposed to take her back in time wasn't simple to activate. It was complicated, weavingly intricate, to the point in which, that if she hadn't been a Sue, she might have never solved it. You had to sing to it, with a very specific song, to a specific register. Then, you tapped another specific spot in a specific place on the jewel. Specific as in, if you were a millimeter off, it would not work. Then you had to dunk it water, weld a silver chain to it, still submerged, within a time limit of ten seconds, encrust it with glitter, sing a specific note, defy the various laws of physics, the universe, and existence…

She shuddered, her shivers like the shakings of a dainty cherry blossom in the breeze. No. She was not going through that again.

But the fact remained that she was exhausted. Mentally, physically, and magically. One could not twist the mind, the body, and the laws of the universe without feeling, at the very least, a little tired. Mentally, Kaliana flipped through the script embedded into her mind. She still could go ahead, hide exhaustion for a little while yet, at least as long to put on a stunning, yet polite, yet flirty, yet chaste smile to the (male! Or female, she wasn't that picky, anyway, and she was a Sue, if she really wanted to, she could simply just change her preferences) prefect that would escort her to her dorm. Fulfilling that plot of hers was… no, not difficult, nothing could be that difficult for a Sue after all, just… tiring.

She'd have to hook up with Draco Malfoy, and get several other boys to fall hopelessly in love with her. She stifled a yawn. Normally, she'd be up to the challenge. After all, no matter how snobbish Draco Malfoy could be (and yes, she admitted he wasn't perfect) he was still hot. But again, she was exhausted.

Hmm, which would she rather do, go make small talk with a guy with cool gray eyes, a good body, and amazingly silvery-blond hair, or go to sleep?

Sleep, she decided.

Sleep, and go into nice, peaceful, oblivion.


End file.
